


First Contacts

by Three_Oaks



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Day 5, M/M, Older Benji, Role Reversal, Younger Ethan, benji is jaded, benthan week 2020, ethan is a little shit, he's been through a lot, starting to trust each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25898917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Three_Oaks/pseuds/Three_Oaks
Summary: Benji Dunn is a seasoned team leader. He's been in the IMF since his twenties, he's seen everything there was to see. He's seen things he wished he hadn't seen. But he's never seen anyone like Ethan Hunt, the latest addition to his team. And he doesn't know how to deal with him.
Relationships: Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt
Comments: 26
Kudos: 44
Collections: Benthan Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Why work on your wips when you can just start something new? The EoT au is giving me headaches, and I wanted to post something today. I apologize for how short it is, I haven't had time to write more. Consider this an appetizer.
> 
> (I had 10 minutes to pick a title and I'm not happy with it, so don't be surprised if I change it later)
> 
> Hoping this hasn't made you click away, enjoy!

"We'll be breaking in through the roof. Luther will take care of the alarms, Haskell will wait outside with the car across the bridge, and I'll distract the ambassador while Hunt..." Benji stopped. Goddamit. Hunt was playing with his pen again, throwing it in impressive arcs and catching it. Haskell was watching him like a cow watched a train. "Hunt! Are you even listening to me?" he barked. 

"Sir, yes, Sir!" He caught the pen without even looking, giving him the fakest earnest look that Benji had ever seen. He rolled his eyes so hard he could have seen the back of his skull, if such a thing were possible. Deep breath. 

"Agent Hunt. As I told you fifty times, there's no need to call me Sir. You're not in the Army anymore, and I'm not your CO."

Hunt leaned back on his chair, rocking it on the back feet in way that made Benji want to scream at him to sit properly. But he wasn't Hunt's mother -thank God for that- and he already had enough trouble with the newest addition to his team without policing his posture.

"Yes, Agent Dunn, Sir!"

That cocky smile again. Taunting him. 

"Were you always so insufferable?" he sighed. 

"Only for you, Sir," Hunt answered. He even had the gall to wink. 

"So pray tell me, am I boring you?"

Hunt started throwing the pen again, passing it from one hand to the other with a practiced ease.

"Not at all, Benji," Hunt said, throwing him his most charming grin.

"Agent Dunn will do," he retorted with gritted teeth.

"Of course, Sir."

Hunt threw the pen again, but this time it landed in a perfect arc in Benji's still half full coffee cup.

"Oops." Hunt said, staring him right in the eyes, not even blinking, fake contrition dripping so hard from his voice a deaf toddler would have picked it up.

What the hell was wrong with the guy? 

"I don't want to interrupt, Benji, but drop-off is in an hour," Luther cut him off before he could start shouting and Hunt in earnest. 

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He would deal with Hunt later. The mission came first.

"Yes. Sure. Well, if Agent Hunt can afford to be distracted like a chicken in a corn mill, maybe he should recapitulate the plan for us all."

Hunt stopped rocking his chair, sitting straight as a soldier at attention.

"The ambassador, Hiroshi Tanaka, will be in the ball room, collecting donations. He'll be nervous, because he knows that his books are missing. But this is good for us, because I know from the boyfriend of the maid's cousin that being nervous makes him drink. And drink makes him chatty. He's got a fondness for all things British, so Agent Dunn's charming accent will sure do the trick. No offense, Agent Dunn," Hunt said, sheepishly.

"Not bad," Benji admitted. Very good, actually. "Tell me more, Ethan."

Hunt preened a little at the sound of his first name. Benji made note not to use it again.

"The embassy has eight floors. Once we drop on the roof, I'll go down the elevator shaft to the second floor, where I'll take the fourth door on the right to enter the cultural attache Atsunori's office. He won't be there, he's visiting his mother for her eightieth birthday. I'll then climb through the window to get to Tanaka's office on the first floor without having to deal with security. And then I'll..."

"Enough."

Hunt's face fell.

"Did I get something wrong?"

"No. You did good, Ethan." 

Shit. He'd said he wouldn't use it again. He was beaming. Goddamit, he looked handsome when he didn't have that shit-eating grin.

"Haskell!" he barked, trying to jumpstart himself out of that train of thoughts.

"Yes, Agent Dunn?"

"Where will you be waiting with the car?"

"Erm... By the door?"

Benji hit his forehead with his palm. 

"No. Across the bridge. You would have know this, if you hadn't been too busy watching Agent Hunt play like a twelve year old on a sugar binge. This is to show, Agent Hunt, that even if you may feel like you're above briefings such as this one, some of us need them. Do you know what happens to us if we can't escape in time, for example because Haskell here is not in the correct position after your little break in, and we get caught?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Say it."

"We'll all get disavowed."

"Disavowed. Such a nice word," he said, putting all the bite he could in the words. "Just like structural optimization means you'll get fired. Tell me, what does getting disavowed means? No euphemisms. I'm sure someone with your brilliant intellect can figure it out."

Hunt looked at the floor.

"Then let me explain it to you. I'm going to die. Luther is going to die. Haskell is going to die. You're going to die. Youth and idiocy don't grant you immortality, I'm afraid. And you'll only have yourself to blame. Do you understand?"

The room could as well have been a grave, given the silence. Luther was slowly shaking his head. Haskell was trying to make himself as small as he could, grateful as he was not to be the target of his angry scolding. He ignored them.

"Do you understand?" he shouted, making Haskell jump and Ethan flinch in a way he didn't want to linger on.

"Yes, Sir."

Hunt looked properly shamed. For this once, he let go the use of the title.

"Good. Get ready, everyone. We're leaving in 50 minutes."

He tried not to see how Hunt hung back from the others, avoiding their eyes. He looked as if he'd just been punched in the face. 

Good. Better to be ashamed than to be dead.

He'd never let a team of his die again.


	2. Chapter 2

"You heartless old bastard! What the fuck do you mean, we're not going after him?" Hunt shouted, so hard his voice was breaking.

"Exactly what I said. Stand down, Hunt."

"No. No, I'm not doing that," he said, shaking his head with eyes like a mad dog. "We have to find Haskell. We have to!"

"Haskell went missing after the last comm check three hours ago. Come on, Hunt, you know that if they want him dead, they've done it already!"

Hunt sat down by the table and put his head into his hands.

"Do you... Do you think he's dead?" he asked, his voice trembling just a hint. If that tremor had planted a knife into Benji's heart, what had twisted it was how hard Hunt had tried to hide it.

"I don't know," Benji answered, emotionless. He'd had years to practice, unlike Hunt. Good for him. 

Hunt crumpled. He looked smaller, younger. He looked as if he were going to cry.

But Benji had told him the truth. Better than giving him false hope. He hated himself for that, for not crossing that big empty room, sitting by his side on one of those rickety wooden chair, with a hand on his shoulder, calling him Ethan and telling him that it would all be fine. Heartless bastard alright.

Maybe he should let Hunt off, send him back to base. He wouldn't be happy, but he would be safe. And Benji could take care of everything on his own.

"You're just like them."

Hunt's voice startled Benji out of his reflections. He wasn't shouting anymore, it didn't have that mocking edge that had infuriated him for months. Or that softness it had when he relaxed and that Benji had pretended not to notice. That voice was harsh, cold. And full of bitter rage.

Hunt got up, slowly crossing the room towards Benji. He grabbed Benji by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to look down into his face. The same rage. And contempt. Benji didn't even try to fight.

"You're just like all those officers in the Army, like all the brass." His voice was reduced to a drawl, low and dangerous and so, so furious. "You send your men off to die. You don't give a fuck about them," he spat in his face.

Benji slapped Hunt's hands away, kicked him behind the knee and threw him on the floor, twisting his arm to immobilize him and tackling him. It was over in less than a fraction of a second. Hunt was face down on the cold, splintery hardwood floor, splayed under him, twisting in pain as Benji bent his shoulder backwards. He was hurting him. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong, that he was acting like the worst kind of leader, of man. Hunt had trusted him, still. That's why he hadn't reacted in time. He seized the last of that white hot rage that he'd let blaze through him, before it vanished into more shame and regret. Breathing hard in Hunt's hair, he whispered in his ear. "Never, ever say that to me again."

He got up, letting him go, and walked to the broken window, at the opposite end of the room. Hunt sat up, breathing hard, holding the arm that Benji had twisted close to his chest.

"I'm not leaving Haskell," he said, watching the street below. He couldn't bear to look at Hunt. Yet another of his agents that he'd let down. "But rushing in will only get you killed."

Hunt didn't answer.

"I'll stick to the plan. I'll meet with Coolidge and tell him that I know we're getting followed, and that I'll only take the deal if he gives me Haskell."

"And what if he refuses?" His tone was muffled. He was still sitting on the floor, looking down, away from Benji. Only fair.

"I'll kill him."

"You can't do that."

"Hunt, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you that, but killing people is part of the job description."

"You can't do that alone. He has five other goons with him, plus God knows how many at his base."

"He won't have taken Haskell to his base. Not enough time. And I can take six people."

"Let me come with you."

"No."

"You don't trust me."

"Of course I trust you."

Hunt got up, dusting himself off. He was still avoiding Benji's eyes, but his demeanor had changed. He held himself straighter, his shoulder were tense. He walked up to him, until he was so close that Benji had to look down at him. He had never been more aware of the few inches between them.

"Then are you going to tell me what the fuck this was about? Or do I have to wait until you lose it again?" 

Benji didn't answer.

"I thought so. I'm coming with you."

***

Benji stared down at Haskell. Tony, even though he never called him that. Maybe he should have. The hospital linen was fresh and crisp against his pallid skin, making the bruises that littered his body seem even darker, bloodier. At least he was alive. Small mercies.

"Sit down, Hunt. Pacing until you dig a trench in the floor is not going to help Haskell here."

"It's not bothering him either, given the state he's in."

"Well, it's bothering me." And, after a breath, he relented. "Take the chair. I'll go get us coffee."

"Thanks."

Benji stopped at the door.

"How do you like it?"

"Tea, if they have it, actually."

"Sure."

He came back a few minutes later, holding two fuming paper cups, and handed one to Hunt.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Come on. I'm not that desperate," he scoffed. 

Hunt didn't answer. The silence hung heavy in the room, only broken by the distant sounds of the hospital. Benji hated it. 

"You know what's funny?" he said. 

Hunt threw him a quizzical look.

"You're the American, and you're drinking tea, while I'm drowning my triple shot espresso, black as black can be. I don't know, I just didn't peg you for a tea kind of guy."

He looked at Hunt, waiting for an answer that didn't come.

"He's going to be alright, you know. Doctor says he should wake up tomorrow. Then we can organize the evac, and we'll be back home in no time. Hell, I bet he'll be on his two feet before we leave for Rome. And-"

"You know what's funny?" Hunt interrupted him. "You spent six months trying to get me to shut up, and now you're the one who can't stop blabbering." He took a gulp of tea. "Just spit it out."

Benji felt the words die in his throat. It was a breaking point, a fork he couldn't avoid. He could keep quiet, pretend he hadn't heard. His regrets, his guilt. Ethan just one more person he'd betrayed, in one way or another. 

"I'm sorry."

Not enough. Not nearly enough.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted... like that. It was unacceptable. If you want to put up for a transfer, I'll understand."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I'm not asking for a transfer. But in exchange, you have to tell me one thing."

Benji felt his stomach tighten. He didn't talk about it, he didn't want to talk about it. He wasn't sure he could talk about it.

"Why didn't you want me to come?" Hunt asked. Huh. Not what he'd expected. Not much easier to answer. Carefully, he ripped the words from his chest where they were buried.

"Haskell may have been dead already. I couldn't risk losing you too."

The words hung into the air, fragile as glass. Or was he the the one who would break? He waited.

Hunt got up, taking two dollar bills out of his wallet. He stuffed them inside Benji's shirt pocket, standing much to close for comfort. He could feel the warmth of his body. He remembered how he'd felt under him. He couldn't look away. 

"Now we're even," he said. "Look after Haskell."

He left without looking back, and Benji started breathing again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can still write, I swear. I'm so sorry for the delay. Words are hard.

God, he was drunk. When was the last time he'd been drunk? Longer than he could remember. He wasn't sure he liked what that said about the state of his social life. Or rather, the inexistence of said social life. But the mission had gone well, the safehouse had turned out to be a villa an hour from Rome, and the weather was warm. The cicadas were buzzing and the air smelled like the sun, the great fields of dried grass of his childhood and the sweet leaves of the fig tree shielding them from the last rays of the day. He closed his eyes for an instant, basking in the warmth. He would be even warmer if he laid on the stone tiles. Maybe he should do it.

"Give me your glass, Benji," Ethan said.

Benji eyed the freshly opened bottle of chianti in his hand, and its three sisters on the table. He groaned.

"Come on, Ethan."

"What? We have six hours to dry up until tomorrow!"

"Haskell is already drooling all over his shirt."

"The more for us, then. Please?" Were his eyes green, or blue? He couldn't decide. Maybe he should just stare a bit longer. 

Benji sighed.

"Ah, what the hell. Give me that bottle."

A speck of a smile crossed Ethan's face. He batted Benji's uncertain hand away, and started filling his glass, up and up.

"What are you doing?" Benji asked, pushing his hand away, an instant before the glass overflowed. Wine spilled onto the dusty stone tiles, staining them like fresh blood. Ethan put the bottle down, holding himself on the table with one hand, and let himself fall into the overstuffed velvet armchair they'd dragged out of the living room. 

"Maybe I'm trying to get you drunk," he said, settling in the chair like a lounging cat, one leg over its arm, graceful enough to hide that he'd had just as much as Benji, if not more.

"You've achieved that about a bottle and a half ago, thank you."

"You're the one who suggested we should have a drink!"

"A drink. One drink."

"Would letting yourself go for one evening kill you, old man?"

That stung.

"Old man? You... you... young... person, " he stumbled, looking for a retort he'd drowned in wine somewhere along the way. Ethan started laughing, uncontrollably, and soon they were both folded in half, tears at the corners of their eyes, belly aching.

"I'm not even that old," Benji said, once he managed to take a breath.

"I'm not that young either. Do you want to guess?"

"You're twenty six."

"Cheater. They won't let me take a peek at your file, so you'll have to tell me."

"I'm forty eight. There, happy?"

"Very." He smirked. 

Benji looked at him. His black hair turned golden brown in the setting sun. Unlike Benji, who'd been religiously applying sunscreen since they'd arrived, the few days in Italy had been enough to bless him with a gorgeous tan that stopped just above his collarbone, exposed by his half-unbutonned shirt. Open, relaxed. Trusting. 

He felt the claws of a headache starting to burrow in his skull. 

"Why did you want to look at my file?"

"I wanted to see if you were younger than my father."

Benji got up, leaving his undrunk glass of wine on the table.

"Benji, I'm sorry," Ethan said, grabbing his arm. "I didn't mean to..."

"You're drunk. Get some rest. We're leaving early tomorrow."

He disentangled himself from Ethan's grasp, and went back inside the villa, his upset expression burned into his retina.

***

Benji was looking at the cracked plaster of the wall. The night had finally fallen, the cicadas replaced by the occasional call of an owl. He'd meant to go to sleep, minimize the headache he'd have to face the next day, make him feel slightly less old and useless. If that was possible. 

A soft knock on the door. Ethan.

"I've put Haskell to bed. I may need your help to wake him up tomorrow," he said, sitting on the bed next to him.

"What do you want, Ethan?"

"I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have tried to look at your file. It was before what happened with Haskell, I promise. And..." he hesitated.

"Spit it out."

"I wanted to check you were alright."

"How gentlemanly of you. As we've established earlier, I'm not a child anymore. "

"Would it kill you to let someone be nice to you?"

"It probably would, yes."

Ethan chuckled. 

There was something about him. It was more than his blatant talent for all things espionage, his natural leadership. He'd already caught Haskell looking at him for confirmation after Benji had given an order several times. And he could see why -Ethan was confident, toeing the line into recklessness, charismatic, more attuned to the subtleties of their trades than agents twice his age. When Benji finally failed to avoid that final bullet, or to run away from that last bomb fast enough, or whatever it was to be, Ethan would make a great team leader. 

But it was more than that.

Behind all the bluster, Ethan was kind.

Kind enough to come check on him, despite how they'd parted. Kind enough to put Haskell to bed, swaddle him like a big baby. Kind enough to lash out at him when he thought that he was leaving his teammate to die.

"Why did you join?"

"The IMF?"

Benji nodded.

Ethan took a breath.

"I wanted to help. In the army, sometimes, it felt like there was nothing I could do. Follow orders, go where they tell you, but for what?" 

"And you think the IMF is any better?"

"Of course. How many people did we save yesterday? You put us there. You made sure we stopped Di Angeli. We made a difference."

Benji scoffed. 

"Until next arms dealer, terrorists, chemical gas manufacturer, or whatever. It doesn't change anything."

"You don't believe that."

"You're right. I don't. It's probably a sign of madness, really."

"I don't think you're mad. And I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"Thinking you wanted to be friends. You don't, don't you?"

One quick, hopeful glance. Benji didn't say anything. Couldn't.

"Then I won't bother you anymore." 

Ethan looked away. Then got up, closed the door behind him. Left Benji. Alone, in the dark, staring at the wall.

***

Benji didn't close his eyes. The hours passed and the night deepened, the house creaked and squeaked around him, the wind blowing the white, dusty curtain, like old ghost, haunting him.

He had to get up.

Had to find Ethan. 

If only his head didn't hurt. Maybe tomorrow, when they were both sober. Or after they got home, in front of a good coffee for him, and a fancy tea for Ethan. He'd meant to try the one across the street from his flat since it had opened, last May. He'd even checked their menu, compulsively, to see if they had anything above a Lipton teabag. Which they did. In his mind, they never bickered when he took him there.

Or maybe he should stay away. Better for Ethan, better for him. No need to drag up old corpses, let him believe they could be anything more than colleagues. No need to let himself believe that, either. Why change things now? He'd been alone for so long. It was better that way. For everyone involved.

Ethan again, smiling at him, laughing, his hair falling across his forehead. Making him want to tell him to go get a haircut, or run his hand through them. Ethan, deathly focused on rescuing Haskell. Ethan after a perfectly executed mission, waiting for him to tell him he did good. 

Ethan, wounded when Benji pushed him away once more.

Ethan, deciding it was the last time.

Benji got up.

Softly, he knocked at Ethan's door. What the hell was he doing? It was the middle of the night. Ethan was probably sleeping, which everyone with an ounce of sense would be doing at 4:36 AM, after working for two weeks straight and getting drunk on top of that.

No answer.

"Ethan?" he whispered. 

He opened the door, as quietly as he could. 

The bed was untouched and the room was empty.

Benji's stomach fell down a gulf he didn't know existed.

Ethan was gone. He'd had enough of Benji, and now he was gone. Of course he was. Why stay? Benji had been pushing him away basically since he'd met him. He deserved it. He sat down on the bed, rested his face in his hands, and let the inevitability of it wash over him. 

Something hit the glass pane of the window. Probably a branch. He ignored it.

Again.

Then twice.

He rose from the bed, wiped his eyes, and slammed the window open.

"Were you looking for me?" Ethan asked from the terrace. "I saw you moving across my room."

"You're still there," he said, feeling stupid.

"I'd never leave you, Benji." Everyone left. But in that instant, he wanted to believe him. "I was just looking at the stars."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all."

***

Benji laid down on the stone tiles, next to Ethan. They were cold now, the slight dampness of the night clinging to his skin and making him shiver.

"Why aren't you in your bed? Where there is, you know, a mattress?"

"I wanted to see the stars."

"A romantic, are you?"

Ethan chuckled.

"Just an overgrown boy who wanted to be an astronaut."

Benji turned his eyes to the sky. He'd forgotten how many lights there were, once you were out of the city and its perpetual dance of streetlamp and neon sign, eating away at the darkness until all that remained was a purple blur. 

"I grew up in the countryside, you know," Benji said.

"Really? I took you for a city boy."

"I just haven't been back for a while, that's all."

"Why?"

"Nothing to go back to, really. And you?"

"A mother and an uncle. I'll visit them next time I can take some time off, they keep complaining they never see me." He hesitated. "And I miss them, too. It's still home."

"That's nice."

"Sounds stupid. I've been gone for years."

"No, I mean it. It's important, to have something outside of this job. Otherwise, you forget that some people don't spend all their time running from mercenaries with rocked launchers."

"I've never had anyone attack me with a rocket laucher," Ethan smiled.

"Trust me, you don't want to." Benji turned to him. "What I wanted to say is that it's good that you're not alone."

"Are you?"

Benji took a deep breath. Then another, looking at the dark leaves of the fig tree blending into the deep blue of the night sky. 

"Less since I met you."

It was dark, too dark to see properly. But he could still see Ethan's smile.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"About what?"

"That many things I need to apologize for, huh?"

"Not what I meant."

"I'm sorry about earlier, then. I was having a good time, and then..." Faces long gone floated behind his closed eyes. "I remembered why I don't do this. You trust me, don't you?"

"I do," Ethan answered. Not a breath of indecision.

"You shouldn't. No one should."

"But I do, Benji."

"Do you want to know why?"

"Do you want to tell me why?"

For the first time in years, Benji realized he wanted to tell someone, tell Ethan.

"I loved the job, when I joined. The excitement, the feeling that you're going something secret, something special. Not that this is what matters, but I was young and stupid. I loved my team. My family... I couldn't wait to get out. And I did, joined the IMF. Maybe that's why I was so quick to latch onto them. And then... a mission went wrong. One evening. That's all it took. They were dead. I was the only one left. Never stopped wondering what I should have done."

"I'm sorry," Ethan said. Words. Empty words, from most people. But not from him.

"I can't. I can't do that again, Ethan."

"Then I promise I won't die."

"You can't promise that," Benji laughed, incredulous. Bitter.

"I promise I'll try. Is that good?"

"Yes. That's good."

Benji looked back at the stars, the sky. Paler now. The sun was rising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if the emotions in this make sense, but at this point I don't know anymore and kinda gave up. Hope you enjoyed anyway, and thanks for reading, as always.


End file.
